


Bruised Fingers and Piano Keys

by lightningmcqueendean



Category: jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Comforting!Mark, Fluff, Hurt!Jack, Insomnia, Jack is sad, Kisses, M/M, Pianist!Jack, im sorry, its happy in the end i promise, no pianos were damaged in the making of the fic, sad thoughts, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:22:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5008099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningmcqueendean/pseuds/lightningmcqueendean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jack looks over at his wonderful partner, the smooth curve of his hips as they meet his stomach and strong shoulders, his pink hair mussed and his glasses sitting precariously close to the edge of the nightstand."</p><p>Or: Jack has insomnia and takes his frustration out on the piano.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruised Fingers and Piano Keys

The alarm clock shows 22:48. That's when the thoughts come.

They rattle around like heavy chains, beating against the back of his tired eyes and weaving around his ideas and pulling them deeper into his mind.

Mark is sleep warm beside him, facing away. His breathing smooth and calm and the opposite of Jack's but what can he do about it?

This happens too often. The insomnia, the anger, the frustration, the confusion and doubt that make his fingers itch and twitch.

The thoughts, as always, are like demons whispering; snakes hissing away,

_"You aren't good enough for him."_

_"Look at him, he's wonderful; I'd even go as far as perfect...everything a good boyfriend should be."_

 

Jack looks over at his wonderful partner, the smooth curve of his hips as they meet his stomach and strong shoulders, his pink hair mussed and his glasses sitting precariously close to the edge of the nightstand.

_"Why the hell can't you be more like him, eh?"_

"Stop," Jack whispers, putting his face into his shaking hands.

_"Shut up, dumbass. You'll wake him up. Some normal people around here actually need to sleep."_

They're not so much voices in his head, Jack thinks as he curls into a fetal position, trying to make sure that he makes as minimal amount of movements as possible. It was his own voice, telling him truths that he likes to keep hidden. Could you blame him?

_"He could leave you at any time, you know that, right?"_

_"Stuck with you, no wonder he gets those bags under his eyes."_

_"WHY DON'T YOU GO TO SLEEP, SEAN?"_

They get loud in the quiet and Jack's eyes are wetting. Pathetic. He finally pulls back the covers as smoothly as he can, not wishing to disturb Mark. He's done this a thousand times...it's like second nature.

Tip-toeing out of the room and closing the door, he slips down the stairs and into the first floor of their house.

The place was beautiful, of course. Mark practically paid for it all.

 _"Way to help out with that,_ " the thoughts laugh.

"Shut it," Jack says through grinding teeth, getting over to his second most prized possession (Mark is obviously the first.). "I bought the doors."

The big, black, beautiful grand piano sits in the moonlight that streams through the floor to ceiling windows, illuminating the sharp and soft edges and the keys that are the homes to Jack's fingers.

He quickly sits down, the seat cold through his pants but he couldn't possibly give a damn at the moment.

He begins to play.

The piano is the gateway into an astronomical feeling; a way to put those terrible ideas out of play and away from the mind and heart and oh, how he yearns for this.

When he starts, he can't stop. His panic and sadness fly through his hands as he bangs on the keys , his fingers not registering the pain that shoots up his arms and he barely notices the teardrops that land on his beloved instrument until his fingers slip momentarily.

Mozart, Yiruma, Tchaikovsky, Helen Jane Long; a string of modern and classical and the voices aren't as loud.

His fingers start to hurt.

He continues to play.

_"Do. Not. Wake. Him. Up."_

*~*~*~*~*~*

The bed is cold.

Yes, of course, the heater is on and the duvet was thick and soft but there was no warmth of another body and that's what woke Mark up.

"Jack? Babe?" He mumbles, turning over and squinting in the darkness.

No answer.

Sitting up, he reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp, stretching and checking the time. Two in the morning.

The room is silent, no trace of Jack except for the messy sheets. Mark puts his hand on Jack's side of the bed. It's cold.

Putting on his glasses, he walks across the room to the door.

Jack's probably getting something to eat. Good thing, too. Maybe he'll make Mark something as well?

Smiling at the image of his sleepy boyfriend trudging around the kitchen, he opens the bedroom door to a wall of sound.

It almost sounds painful, hearing how the piano seems to moan under the pounding of its keys.

Mark is instantly wide awake, rushing down the stairway to a terrible sight.

Jack looked manic. His eyes almost seemed sunken in, bruised underneath from lack of sleep. He had tear tracks on his face; shiny lines showing that his puffy eyes had been leaking. His green hair was a wreck, sticking up in every possible direction and then some.

He was frantically banging the keys, obviously speeding up the tempo and making it sound dark and fanatic.

How had Mark not heard this?

"Jack! Sean? Baby, calm down!" Mark yells over the noise (Yes, noise. This was not music.).

The noise comes to an abrupt halt, the sound of fists hitting the keys echoes around the room with an awful air of surprise and fear. Mark rushes over to his lover's side, turning Jack to face him. He grabs Jack's face in both hands, looking him over and God did he look even worse up close.

"Oh, baby, what did you do?" Mark whispers, caressing Jack's cheeks as he begins to cry yet again.

"I-I woke you, didn't I? Dammit!" Jack growls, pounding his fists on the bench.

That's when Mark sees the bruises. He quickly grabs Jack's hands, unfolding and examining them. It was awful. They were discolored and blotchy and red and pale and Mark was scared.

He looks up into Jack's eyes-his wonderful, ecstatic, caring and astonishing Jack-and sees so much pain.

"What happened, baby?" He whispers, bringing his beloved into his arms, putting his nose into Jack's neck.

A sob claws it's way from Jack's throat and he holds onto Mark desperately, tears soaking through the taller one's nightshirt.

"I'm so sorry, Mark." Jack gasps, hugging tightly; almost like if he lets go he'll fall apart.

And that just might happen.

Mark puts his right arm under Jack's knees and his left against his back, picking him up and carrying him to the kitchen.

Setting Jack down into the counter, he quickly grabs two large bags of frozen peas from the freezer, putting them into Jack's black and blue fingertips.

The younger one hisses in pain but grips the bags.

The silence is deafening in the darkness, light frost outside just barely showing Jack's face as he looks down in shame at the peas.

"What was that, Jack?" Mark asks delicately, knowing how fragile his partner is at the moment.

Jack sniffs miserably and doesn't say anything for a few moments before he whispers, "Insomnia."

This is like a slap to Mark's face.

They had been dating for almost four years now, living in the same house for almost one of those. Mark never knew about this.

One look at Mark's face and Jack begins. He tells Mark why he was so reluctant to move in with him, why he had chosen the doors (Every one of them was securely soundproofed.), why his fingers were never quite the right color (Makeup?), why he couldn't sleep.

Mark stays with him during his little monologue, rubbing little circles into his bare knees. When Jack finishes, he looks at Mark expectantly. "Well?" He whispers, rubbing his wet face against his shoulder.

Confused, Mark grabs Jack's face once again, "'Well' what babe?"

Jack's face screws up angrily. "Aren't you going to tell me how fucked up I am? Tell me that you're going to leave me because lord knows that she did," he shouts.

Jack's breathing hard now, the peas crunching in his clenched fists. Mark is confused, he doesn't have any idea what Jack is saying-

Oh.

He's talking about his last partner. Mark knew they didn't end on good terms, how heartbroken Jack had been. 

Anger spikes in Mark's chest and he says carefully, "That bitch left you because you had bouts of insomnia?"

Jack's jaw clenches and he looks down at his bruised fingers, wincing at the sight.

"Jack...Sean, baby, look at me." Mark whispers, keeping his hands on Jack's knees.

It takes a full two minutes (Mark was counting in his head.) for Jack to look up again. His bright blue eyes were dull now.

"Sean, no words can describe how much I want to go tell of the awful wench right now," he starts, moving his hands to Jack's slumped shoulders. "There is nothing-you hear me-nothing wrong with you! Insomnia is something you can't control and these stupid thoughts that tell you these...these godawful things..." He pauses, trying to keep the angry words out of sight and mind for a little while.

"We have been together for just about four years...and frankly, they've been the best four years of my adult life. I can honestly say that you are the best thing that's ever happened to me, Sean! We all have our fuckups, trust me...I'm not perfect and you know that pretty well. No one is, Sean. That's-That's what makes us human! Trial and error, hypotheses, mistakes, forgiveness. You know, the only thing wrong with what you've done now, is not telling me about this.

"Four years, Sean! I mean..." he shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling as if for guidance that he knows he won't receive.

"We're both to fault, baby. I should've noticed, you should've told me." He says gently, caressing Jack's face again.

A steady stream of tears had made their way from Jack's eyes, dripping onto his shirt and pants, "I'm so sorry, Mark," Jack whispers, looking down again.

Mark hates seeing his partner cry.

He also can't find a reason to be angry with him.

"You know I'd never leave you, right?" Mark utters, looking at Jack pleadingly.

It takes a few moments before Jack nods.

They stay there in awkward silence until a wonderful idea sparks up in Mark's head. "Let me show you that I'm not going to leave, Sean."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Jack looks at him, confused as he slides off of the counter, leaving the peas behind him and following Mark's beckoning hand.

They're sitting at the piano again. "Mark, what are you-" he's cut off by the first notes of Moonlight Sonata, one of his favorite piano pieces, being gently played along the piano.

Mark couldn't play for shit. He was a brilliant singer, and Jack knew that. Mark had never cared for playing like Jack had.

Yes, he always marveled at Jack's abilities, but when Jack would offer to teach him, Mark quickly shook his head. It was the one thing that Mark would blatantly refuse...as if he hated the thought of simply touching the keys.

And now...here he was, his fingers gliding across the keys, playing Moonlight Sonata perfectly, as if he's been playing piano his whole damn life. Jack rests his head on Mark's shoulder, a smile pulling at his lips. "I was going to wait until our four year anniversary," Mark starts quietly, still playing, "I've been taking lessons and all that jazz...I was going to impress you, man. This was the first song I heard you play. The first song that I heard and thought, 'Damn, he'd be a keeper.'"

That's when he scoots down the bench, his fingers dragging along to the higher keys. Mark nods to the other side of the board, looking at Jack with so much love Jack's throat squeezes up and his heart clenches.

Jack sets his bruised fingers on the keys and they play with each other, Jack adding in little things to add more harmony here or more bass here and it's wonderful and too much and not enough but hey...they'll make it work.

"I love you." Jack whispers when the song ends, pulling Mark into a chaste kiss. He knows his lips are bitten raw and chapped, and Mark has morning breath, but Mark just pulls him closer in a silent plea, conveying the words he's been trying to get Jack to believe through a deep kiss.

They part and they're foreheads are touching and Jack giggles at the craziness that this Sunday night has become.

"I love you, too. I will never leave you, Sean. You and your bruised fingers and your piano keys."


End file.
